“She laughed, and the sound was so melodic that I knew I wanted to hear it again.”

“He laughed and then leaned in and kissed my neck. It was our second kiss. Yes, I was counting. And no, I didn't want it on the neck. "Do you want to hear more?""We live, right? Because it's not looking very good."He laughed again, and I knew in that instant it was a sound I wouldn't want to live without.”

“A sentence is like a tune. A memorable sentence gives its emotion a melodic shape. You want to hear it again, say it—in a way, to hum it to yourself. You desire, if only in the sound studio of your imagination, to repeat the physical experience of that sentence. That craving, emotional and intellectual but beginning in the body with a certain gesture of sound, is near the heart of poetry. ”

“He laughs. And in his laugh I hear bliss. I hear feet dancing, the rush of skirts twirling. The sound of children.Is that the first sign of love?You hear in the person you're destined to love the sound of those yet to be born.”

“I knew that she couldn’t hear me if she was there. But the sound was enough to grab me, to hold me to hope, and with desperation that I’d never known before I knew that I must find my way back to her.”

“And the general shot my sister. I could not look at her, but I remember the sound of when she hit the ground. I hear that sound when things hit the ground still. Anything.’ If I could, I would make it so nothing ever hit the ground again.”